


not yet

by ignitesthestars



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Significant Hand Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 12:14:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6854230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignitesthestars/pseuds/ignitesthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Natasha cross paths again after the events of Civil War</p>
            </blockquote>





	not yet

Natasha’s too much of a professional to break cover and smile, but the warmth of the gesture settles in her gut as she casually watches him through the front camera on her phone - an older Galaxy, not Stark tech.

He’s come far since plunging headfirst into the world of espionage, baseball cap pulled low over his face, thin black frames shoved a little haphazardly onto his face. He shoulders carefully through the crowded mall like Moses parting the Red Sea. It’s a strangely graceful motion, born more from a gracious personality and a body able to keep up than any particular training.

She makes a note to point it out to him. He’s not bad at this, but if he’s going to be on the run in what is technically one hundred and seventeen different countries, he needs to be better than not bad.

At least he didn’t bring the Sol - Barnes. _Small mercies_ , Natasha thinks wryly, and allows the rest of her thoughts to slide over the hidden weight in the words.

She snaps a selfie, makes a face at it as he sits on the far edge of the bench she’s perched on. A small mountain of bags is piled next to her, a barrier to separate them in the eyes of anyone who might be looking.

Also, you could never have too many leather jackets.

“No one who looks your age reads the newspaper,” she tells her phone, snapping another photo.

He snorts, pulling out a pen. “I’m doing a crossword.”

“There’s an app for that.”

“Come on.” He really does start doing the crossword, newspaper carefully folded back on itself. “I’ve been awake long enough to know that if it’s old enough to exist on paper, there’s a hipster out there somewhere claiming it’s the only authentic way to do it.”

The smile breaks free. She snaps another photo. “I don’t know how I feel about you and a man-bun.”

He chuckles. There are a million reasons for her chest to be wound up tight these days, but something in it unknots at the sound. Reluctantly, she has to admit that being in the open, running the Avengers with him - it had been almost like a vacation.

It might have been something more.

But the way of the world is to take, and the way of Natasha is to do what needs to be done. The conversation shifts to coded updates, terse exchanges as she pretends to get a phone call and he speaks into the mic on his ear-buds. Her job was a lot harder when there weren’t so many excuses to look like you were talking to yourself, that’s for sure.

They exchange the info they need to, and he’s supposed to leave again. He’s definitely not supposed to glance at her from underneath the brim of his cap, and she’s not supposed to catch the too-blue flash of his gaze in anything other than her phone camera. But their eyes meet anyway, and it takes more of her training than it ought to to make herself glance away awkwardly, just a self-involved woman embarrassed to be caught looking at someone other than herself.

The bench creaks as he leans back on it, staring contemplatively up at the ceiling.

“Are you busy?” he says into the mic.

_Can you join us?_

Natasha starts to gather her bags, tucking her phone into her shirt. _Not yet._ A passing dad watches it go down, and the bench creaks a little more. She gives the dad an _in your dreams_ sneer and very accidentally steps on Steve’s foot.

It takes him a second to remember to feign a wince, and she sniffs audibly, the click of her stilettos on tile sharing this persona’s exact impression of men who can’t get out of her way fast enough. It’s harder than it should be to stick to the right pace, to not linger for a beat too long.

Harder, but not impossible. She brushes past him, and if his thumb skims her wrist behind the shadow of all her bags–

She’ll see him again. She’ll tell him off for it then.


End file.
